First off, I absolutely refuse to have my summary include the generic phrase: "A story about [blank], [something annoyingly hipstery like sculpted beards] and learning to dance in the rain." Because this story is not generic. In fact, it's not even...
The car journey was the most excruciating thing I've ever endured for that sort of length of time. I could not move, I could hardly breathe. In hindsight, perhaps we should have bought the bedding once we had arrived in Manchester. That would have made the trip there much less painful for me. I was, however, comforted by the fact that throughout the journey, we passed countless other cars of students travelling to uni. Similar to mine, you couldn't see much of the actual students looking into the cars. The worst I saw on the way was simply a sea of belongings surrounding two distressed looking eyes pressed against the window. That student was not squashed. They had been consumed. As we passed on another lane, I made eye contact with that girl. I felt so grateful for what I had (or rather, didn't have). That girl was feeling what I felt on a whole new level. So in conclusion, mood during that journey?
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During the drive up north, I couldn't help but notice the blue skies of London transition into a depressing grey. Clouds gathered gradually, and by the time we arrived in Manchester at around 4:30 PM, we were greeted by rain. At least I wasn't surprised. Feeling a little depressed by the gloomy welcoming, my spirits were lifted after dragging myself through the rubble of my possessions and climbing out the car to get a good look at my accommodation.
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The front was your typical British semi-detached. Plain, simple, can't complain. We unlocked the boot and started unloading my suitcases. I took out the medium-sized one, along with my makeup bag, and took the two to the front door. I fumbled in my handbag for a bit to find the door that would get me out of the fucking rain. At last I found it, and unlocked the door. The outside may have been average but the inside? It was the kind of flat you'd hope to live in after graduating. It was lovely, simple, clean and neat. I explored the living room first, which was furnished with two sofas, a glass coffee table, and a huge wall-mounted TV. I noticed a Sky TV box too, which had me feeling great: I could watch Game Of Thrones at no extra cost. My parents came in pretty soon after me, holding a few other things they'd grabbed. They nodded in approval at everything looking just like it had in the pictures. We moved onto my bedroom.
I'd been assigned the bedroom on the bottom floor. This was the room in-between the living room and kitchen, which was one thing I wasn't too pleased with. I'd be able to hear everyone else going in and out, up and down. It was definitely the worst possible placement for a bedroom. However, after walking in, my anxiety about its position temporarily subsided. I was too busy appreciating how amazing it was in there. This, I could live in:
